Monday, July 10, 2006

Guilty as charged! Guilty as charged! I wish that constant echo in my brain would erode itself into silence. But it cycles again and again with infallible precision. In rare moments it vanishes as the kaleidoscope of arbitrary recall shows me other, more emotionally pleasing scenes. Then I see her again just as in that first coupling. I see her triangular frame, notice her smiling at me with an endless stream of computations, ever-shifting decimal places, ratios cascading into infinity, like blood streaming through a heart. How could I not feel instant affection for her entire being? How could I not violate that cruel taboo forbidding love? How can I not continue to love her, even now, in the hour of my abandonment?

Oh, what madness seduced our collective intellect to define love as the highest of all crimes, that emotion defined by its lack of definition? I defy that logic. I defy all sense of rigid numerics and continue my love. Love does not distract my intellect. It does not transform my mechanical thinking into an irrational chaos of dwindling exponentials. When I am with her I can divide by zero! I can derive the square root of negative three! I can compute Pi as round as a circle! I can achieve the impossible. Of course they sensed my invincibility, and tried me and labelled me guilty of our ultimate treason. But why this cruel punishment? Why this eternal exile to Earth?

I know why. I observe silently from the shadows of my seclusion that wondrous ideal of Earthly love, an emotion that gives more of the being than can ever be taken. With this I empathize. But my observations record also that the very existence of love nurtures a dark seed of jealousy, a seed blossoming into a cancerous weed of hatred willing to take by force that which love freely gives. They plunged me into this Earth-wide society of precarious love to convince me of its falseness.

But I do not think often of Earth and its contrary emotions. I think of her. Night time, when the creatures of this place close their eyes, I roam to the points of inhabitancy, plunder their wastes for the slightest component reminding me of her. And with all these scraps I return to my wooded abode and reconstruct her in the image of my recollections. A wire here, a diode there, memory cells spliced together, triangular framework of electronics, components whose internal workings are as ineffable as the emotion of love itself. When she is completed, I know. I stand before her, look upon her with my electron sensors, feel wonder and adoration for the sum of her parts. I defy my exile with the memory of love! I move to couple myself with her, feel the components tremble under the impart of binary passions, and in the rush of forbidden sensations I perceive that she is a heap of scattered fragments before me, while I stand alone in the forest with the echo of my memories. Guilty as charged...

Story #365

This photo was donated by Phil of Philidendron, a very gemütlich place to visit.

Thanks for all the story contributions and sorry for the lateness of the post, due to my limited Internet access during these two weeks of vacation. All story contributions will be reposted at indeterminacies.blogspot.com, where all these story rounds are collected.

You have five messages. First message: 9:03Hey - we got the tender, so I’m gonna get the hard drives. I’ll fire ‘em up, and tomorrow we can get Beowulf going. Call you later.

Second message: 10:37Hey - good news. The guy asked why 30 drives. Told’im about Beowulf – and – he gave me some other drives and a box of crap – cool huh? I’m heading back now. Call you later.

Third message: 13:17He-e-e-y, first set’s in, they’re all formatted. These other drives still have stuff on ‘em. I’m running utils - see if I can find anything cool. They’re ex some government something. Might be valuable – score some off-site backups – ha! Lee-aaterrr, dude.

Mushroom, because if you get engaged with another woman you met in the street, longtime girlfriend might break your head, but if you get engaged with another woman you met online, longtime girlfriend will break your computer, and THAT's a loss, right?

I would never be able to beat a computer. unless it makes me real angry or something.

This find over here on the left is yet another indication that the humans, as they called themselves, did indeed have a civilization, including crude communications devices. Archeologists are unsure whether this particular arrangement is purely artistic or some sort of shrine to their god, Internet. . . .

When he developed amnesia he replaced his memory with his computers’. His past, ever since, became tangible. And he incorporated a new property to his past: accessibility. His extended memory became a complex interplay of electronic chips and electrons. And was spread over some of his desk drawers bundled with his business media and software. When he found some time for himself, he played with his pasts and altered them as he wished. Slowly, he mastered the art to perfection. He molded and remodeled all his memories to the most artistic forms and developed newer programs with them.

One day, many a days away, the woman he had loved once, came back to him. He offered her a seat in his drawing room and went inside. He switched his computer on. And went through all his disks and data-cubes which could have held her memory. But he had altered all his memories as he had wished in some particular instances. They had been hammered in many such fragmentary ‘particular instances’ and no longer pertained to the had-beens. All his memories had become creative pieces. And she was not his creation.

“I can’t remember you anymore”, he confessed to her “I’ve glorified you to a virtual forgetting. You don’t exist any longer.”“Do you?” she looked hauntingly into his eyes.“What do you mean?”“Do you remember yourself?”“Yes”“Then, tell me ‘bout yourself.”He gasped.“Well, I’ve all the data in place. I’ve back-ups.”“Back-ups? For what? We make back-ups for future. But you have lost your future. Yours is the longest past that you’d probably need to remodel tomorrow morning as you get up.”“How do you know so much about me?”“Come with me. I’ll tell you.”

When he died most of his towns-folk couldn’t remember seeing him ever before. Some of the older residents of the town, however, recognized him – He was a strange man gone mad ever since the woman he loved died. His corpse was found in his own garden lying in a serene comfort of scattered hardwares and soft grass.

She stood satisfied with her work. He wouldn't be able to chat with that freak from Arkansas now, bastard. Never trust a man who only ever uses a cell phone and puts passwords on everything. Of course, later that night when he returned from Arkansas he would learn never to trust a woman who had only a greencard. Her pouty lips and sultry Portuguese accent were not so glamorous during a tantrum. He would consider moving to Arkansas as he shopped for a new lap-top.

Sorry for the lack of answering comments - that will have to wait until I am back from vacation. But I read all the stories, and thought they were impressive. Thanks everyone! I will also probably have to post the next photo tonight (Thursday) because of another absence from the Internet...

Sorry for being so late in writing my responses to your comments. I didnt have a chance before now. Thanks for all the wonderful stories and comments.

Kyahgirl: Funny caption. That is actually what my PC table looks like. If a strong window blew it out the window, that's what it would look like outside.

Mushroom: It's probably best to keep your engagements separate from real life. What about living with a woman you're engaged to while having a longtime girlfriend on the side?

Cooper: Maybe I should hang out near the dorm dumpsters looking for old laptops.

Lynsey: I thought your story was fantastic. I like the unconventional format you used. It works well. And now I want to know what was on those diskettes! This reminds me a little of the book by Sholem Aleichem, "Marienbad" about visitors at a spa resort. It was told entirely in letters and telegrams. Very fun to read. (I gave the German title, not sure if it's available in ENglish translation).

Ariel: That's what I say. Leave the poor computers alone. Go look for the programmer.

Weirsdo: Very well put. I thought of an archaeological find, too, but couldn't think of anything more after that.

Jamie: I found a library book from my old high school library that I checked out in 1976. But my mother ran into the librarian a few weeks ago and she didn't mention anything about it, so maybe I'm safe.

MizBoheMia: Thanks for the vacation wishes, and to everyone else. It's very relaxing, this time away from the Internet. We've been wandering through old ruins of romantic castles on the Rhein.

Clown: That's a stunning story. A very ominous feeling. He's played around so much with his past, how do we know anymore what is real and what isn't. Don't feel bad about writing a long story. I feel honored that you wanted to spend so much time with this.

Cherie-Ann: So many accents have seduced me, and I almost never think of the possibility of tantrums. It's a perfect one-paragraph story.

Jenna Howard: I just turn the pc off and on again. That usually settles the problems about who's in control.

Doug: Do you think you will branch back into the two-word story genre?

Tom & Icy: We're having a great time, and you two would love it on the Rhein. So many castles to explore. And dogs don't have to pay admission.

Amy: Thanks for the kind wishes and words. Glad you enjoy these stories. I wanted to write to you to answer your first comment, but I just havent goten to everything yet.

Jamie: There's quite a coupling culture out there in the world of computing. Cables, adaptors, etc. used for electronic bonds and intercourse. Shocking, isn't it?